


All in a Day's Work for the Local Asshole

by Milo



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milo/pseuds/Milo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe, Doflamingo is still evil...albeit in a different form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Local Asshole Puts Armchair On Roof, Declares Himself King of Suburbia

Despite the fact that it was broad daylight, nobody had seen the brightly dressed man covered in pink feather boas climb up onto the roof of his neighbor’s house. But that he got onto the roof wasn’t the strange part. Somehow, someway, Doflamingo had an armchair up there with him.

He lounged in the armchair, his feet kicked over one of the arms. Riku’s house had a well maintained flat roof; no leaves in the gutters or anything. It was a great lookout and an even better spot to put his throne. His roommate Vergo was on the ground, staring up at him.

“Are you going to come down?” he asked Doflamingo.

Doflamingo stretched his legs out and stuck them into the air before curling up in the chair again. The chair wobbled back and forth a little before it steadied again. “Mmmm….I don’t feel like it,” he said. “The view’s great up here.”

“It’s going to rain later,” Vergo pointed out. “It’d be best to take the armchair inside before then.”

“You know, Vergo,” Doflamingo began, “there’s this light colored patch of shingles on our roof. Did you ever notice that before? I haven’t noticed that before.”

Vergo adjusted his sunglasses. “Doffy,” he said sternly.

“What?” Doflamingo replied.

“Riku called the police.”

“Psh! Did he tell you that?” Doflamingo sunk into the armchair comfortably. “He’s bluffing. He’s always bluffing. Besides, it’s not like that one time with the plastic flamingos, right? I’ll bet the police won’t even show up if he does call.”

But the police did show up, as did Riku and his family. His brother, Rocinante, was there with Officer Smoker in tow, to no one’s surprise. They all stared up at Doflamingo with crossed arms and unhappy expressions, talking among themselves as they did, no doubt talking about Doflamingo’s amazing exploits. Doflamingo lowered his sunglasses to look at them and then shook his head.

“Doffy,” Rocinante said through a megaphone. “Can you come down from there?”

Doflamingo shook his head. “That’s no way to talk to the King of Suburbia!” he replied. “Come up here, why don’t you? Then we can have a chat.”

Rocinante lowered the megaphone and shook his head at him. He said something to Smoker and Riku before handing the megaphone over to Smoker.

“This is the fourth time we’ve caught you trespassing on Riku’s property, Doflamingo,” Smoker said. “How many more fines do I have to tape to your forehead before you get it through your thick head to leave him well enough alone?”

Doflamingo frowned at Smoker. “Get a ladder, shorty!” he called down. “I can’t hear you all the way down there.”

That did it. Smoker thrust the megaphone back into Rocinante’s hand, said something that Doflamingo couldn’t hear, and walked off toward Riku’s garage, presumably to go and find a ladder to give Doflamingo a piece of his mind. But alas, Doflamingo had taken precautions and had stowed the ladder away...on the roof. He smirked down at everyone, including Vergo, who seemed conflicted about how to feel.

Doflamingo pulled the lever beside his chair, bringing up the footrest and reclining the back of the chair. He put his hands behind his head and sighed contentedly.

All in a day’s work for the King of Suburbia.


	2. Local Asshole Won't Let Lack of Clothes Stop Him From Enjoying Saturday Night Domino's

Every Saturday Doflamingo ordered himself a pizza. Because, really, why the hell not? Where he lived there was an excellent selection of different places to order from, some closer and some further away than others. But above all, Doflamingo preferred to order from the Domino’s pizza place roughly fifteen minutes from where he lived. 

It wasn’t so much that he liked the pizza there--no, no, it was because his brother’s adopted son happened to work there every summer to save up money for college. And boy, did Doflamingo love to force him to show up on his doorstep. He and Law got off on a rough start, but Law couldn’t hold those random bad moments over his head forever.

“I ordered food,” Doflamingo said to Rocinante, who happened to be visiting that evening. Something something “keep an eye on him” something. “Should be here in about half an hour.”

Rocinante eyed him over his book. “It wasn’t pizza was it?” he asked. “From Domino’s?”

“It was. Why do you ask?”

“Because Law works Saturday nights,” Rocinante said. “And I _know_ you.”

Doflamingo snorted. “Lighten up, Roci. The way you talk, it sounds like you think I’m going to make him cry or something.”

Rocinante looked at him tiredly. “You have, on _multiple_ occasions,” he muttered. “There’s a reason you’re not invited to birthdays and holidays anymore.”

Rolling his eyes, Doflamingo headed off toward the bathroom to take his daily noon shower, the second of three. He usually brought Vergo along with him, but Vergo was busy--something something overtime something--which meant that instead of having a good time, he spent the entire shower thinking instead of relaxing. Typical.

Rocinante was being way too hard on him; so he’d ruined a few of Law’s birthdays, big deal. And maybe he’d crashed a few holidays by showing up buzzed and spiking the punch, and there was that Santa incident...honestly, it’s not like he robbed Law or gave him drugs. Who did Rocinante think he was?

As he toweled off his hair, he looked at himself in the mirror. He squinted, then stood back and smiled. Forty-one years old and still fresh as ever.

The doorbell rang. Doflamingo grinned and hurried toward it, depositing his damp towel over the side of the couch on his way--which earned him a judgmental look from Rocinante. He unlocked the front door, removing the bolt lock and the chain from it before he cracked it open. Standing approximately a foot from the door was Law, dressed in full uniform holding a pizza in a special bag to keep it warm.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite nephew!” Doflamingo looked down at the pizza box through the crack in the door. “Does the pizza have what I want on it?”

Law stared at him blankly for a moment, uncaring, before he opened the case and nudged up the top of the box. “I can confirm one hundred percent that there is both ham and pineapple on this pizza,” he said, deadpan. “As usual.”

“Oh? Well, that’s a shame.” Doflamingo opened the door wide, revealing that he was, in fact, not wearing any clothes at all whatsoever. Law looked at him in absolute horror, jaw dropping and eyes wide. “There ought to be a healthy amount of sausage on that.”

Law looked away and held up his hand to block the more...disgusting parts of Doflamingo from view. “Why,” he said. “ _Why_ do you do this _every single time_?”

“What? You’re saying that like it’s my fault,” Doflamingo said with a chuckle. “You’re the one who happens to show up every Saturday at this particular time...right after I get out of the shower.”

“Then stop fucking calling at the same time every single Saturday,” Law began, “or I’m going to have send someone else over here to deal with your bullshit.”

Doflamingo gasped over-dramatically. “ _Language_ , Law!”

Law simply scowled and shoved the pizza box into Doflamingo’s hands. He stormed off, enraged, and Doflamingo was left to laugh to himself. Oh, he was just too, too easy. Didn’t Law know that by now? He reached down, opened the box of pizza, and then wafted the scent to his nose. Sighing contently, he withdrew back inside and shut the door behind him, replacing all the locks.

“Roci!” Doffy called to his brother. “The pizza’s here!”

“You ordered a salad with that, right?” Rocinante called back. “You know I don’t like pizza.”

Doflamingo stood there for a long moment with the singular, definitely not a salad pizza box in his hands. He looked down at it, and then up again. Oh, that’s right. Rocinante _had_ wanted a salad, specifically, hadn’t he?

“Pineapples can count as salad, right?” he said, to which Rocinante responded with a loud, irritated sigh. 


	3. Local Asshole's Friend Punches Everyone, But Only Once

Vergo only had one hobby: punching. 

Nothing else in life was quite so enjoyable as punching. He’d tried television, sports, drinking and drugs, and even knitting, but nothing else had that same satisfaction as punching someone square in the chest, and then leaving. And he would only do it once per person per day. That was how it had to be. **  
**

The hobby started off small. One day when he was young, his best friend, Doflamingo, got in a fight with his younger brother. Vergo had punched Rocinante so hard that he fell over. Then, while Rocinante was crying and Doflamingo was yelling at him, he left. It was the leaving part that filled him with pure, unbridled joy. Now he kept up a list full of people to punch each and every day of his life.

He would choose one person from the list, and he would spend the entire day seeking them out. It ranged from his neighbors and friends to random people he saw wandering around on the street. He punched the neighbor that said hello to him every morning. He punched his coworkers a single time each. He punched the mailman. He punched the McDonald’s employee who gave him a hamburger on Thursday. He punched a police officer and got penalized for it. 

Nobody was immune. Everyone had to be punched.

Sometimes Doflamingo would ask him to do other things; if they wanted to drink, or make out, or do anything that didn’t involve punching. Vergo was always polite when he turned him down. Punching took a great deal of concentration, he couldn’t do other things. Doflamingo didn’t seem to mind. He wandered off later to harass his brother and Law and things were alright. He invited Vergo once, in order to punch Rocinante, but got mad when Vergo only punched Rocinante once and then left immediately.

There were no exceptions to the rule. One punch once a day. 

For he was One Punch Vergo.


	4. Local Asshole Attacked By Crocodile in Grocery Store Parking Lot

Doflamingo had a lot of friends. Vergo alone probably counted for at least four, considering how faithful he was. But of all Doflamingo’s many, many companions, fans, and lovers, the one person whom he could never quite charm...was a man named Crocodile. **  
**

Now Doflamingo had known Crocodile for a very, very long time. They’d met when they were young after Crocodile punched him in the nose for laughing at his crocodile plushie. From that moment forward, Doflamingo knew that he had no other choice but to befriend Crocodile. And, in time, that need for friendship developed into a need for love. However, Crocodile wasn’t so keen on giving that out either. No, much to Doflamingo’s dismay, somewhere down the road Crocodile took interest in his brother instead. But of course that was just a bump in the road. He would wise up in time and when he did, he would seek out Doflamingo. Crocodile just needed a lot of encouragement. Doflamingo was good at giving that.

He made sure to be extra friendly to Crocodile, sending texts whenever he thought about him (mornings, evenings, the dead hours of the night) with the occasional...spicy text thrown in to see if he could spark Crocodile’s interest. He blocked him, changed numbers several times, and even ignored him in real life. Crocodile liked playing hard to get, no big deal! Doflamingo knew how to play that game very well.

That’s why he visited Crocodile at work whenever he went out shopping. He always knew Crocodile would be there, what better timing?

After checking to make sure it was Crocodile’s shift--he had taken some notes to keep handy--he and Vergo set off to the local grocery store. There, in the parking lot pushing a probably too long line of carts, was the object of his affection; Crocodile.

“Hey! Croco-man!” Doflamingo called out. Crocodile didn’t stop walking or even acknowledge his presence. Doflamingo quickened his pace so as to follow him. “Fufufu! I see you’re hard at work again! Me ‘n Vergo are going to go shopping, so I thought we’d stop by and say hello!”

“If you’re not here to buy something, then _leave_ ,” Crocodile said gruffly.

“I’m hurt, Croc. Is that all you have to say to your best friend?” Doflamingo said, feigning distress. Crocodile gave him a cold glare.

“We _aren’t_ friends,” Crocodile snapped. “We have never been, and never will be friends.”

“Aww, are you still sore from last time I visited you at work?” Doflamingo teased.

Crocodile inhaled and then exhaled, clearly trying his best to keep calm. “The last time you ‘visited’, it cost me my job,” he said. “I don’t trust you not to ruin everything. Go away.”

Doflamingo huffed. “Jeez, that was months ago,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re still holding that over my head!”

His crusty old lizard friend went from job to job; retail, food, office work, and his latest job was at the local grocery store. It was perfect, Doflamingo thought. He could talk to Crocodile and have his fresh bag of marshmallows too. Besides, at previous jobs Crocodile worked around too many breakable, expensive things.

“You should just give me a chance, Croc,” Doflamingo pressed. “Who knows, maybe we’ll totally click! You and me on romantic dates at the beach…We can drink wine and flip people off...”

“I’m taken, dammit,” Crocodile said. “And so are you.”

“What are you talking about?” Doflamingo said, tugging on his shirt. “I’m single and ready to mingle!”

Crocodile pointed behind him. “Then what do you call _that_?”

Doflamingo looked back. Vergo was standing there, looking at him with a small smile. He made a heart shape with his fingers. Doflamingo made a gesture to let him know that now definitely wasn’t the right time for that and Vergo immediately stopped. When Doflamingo looked back, Crocodile was still hurrying away with the row of grocery carts. He ran after him.

“...It’s complicated, okay?” he said to Crocodile. “Me and Vergo are just really, really... _really_ good friends!” Crocodile rolled his eyes. “I’m super single, honest! I can give you whatever my brother can’t.”

“If that’s a reference to your goddamn dick, I want nothing to do with it,” Crocodile said. “I get enough of that from all the pictures you insist on sending me.”

Doflamingo stopped following him and crossed his arms. Well, he thought, if that’s how Crocodile felt about it then maybe he’d play hard to get back!

He quickly got ahead of Crocodile, stopping the train of carts with ease. But the row of carts hit a bump, and the first one in the row fell on its side, which prompted the second third, fourth, and onward to topple over. The middle of the train hit a display of half-priced oranges. The wooden box broke, and all the oranges came loose and rolled out onto the cement. The carnage continued; watermelons, apples, and a rack of potted plants toppled over into the parking lot. Crocodile’s eyes were wide with shock.

“Gee, Croc! Look at this big mess you made!” Doflamingo said. Crocodile stared at him. “You’re not a very good employee! I ought to complain…”

“Doflamingo…” Crocodile began, his voice low.

“Fufufu. Yes, Croco-man?”

Seconds later, Crocodile’s hands were around his neck.


	5. Local Asshole Refuses to Acknowledge Allergies, Almost Kills Himself and Others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a while back [GeorginoschkaVincen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GeorginoschkaVincen) shared some of their allergy headcanons with me and I decided to write this ficlett based on them.

If there was something more enjoyable than morning cornflakes, Doflamingo didn’t want to know what it was. Or maybe he did, depending on how good it was. Regardless, cornflakes were amazing. What wasn’t amazing was Vergo insisting that he use the fake milk to go with his perfect cornflakes. On most occasions, Doflamingo could sneak a gallon of milk past Vergo.

But, as he discovered this particular morning, his precious milk had disappeared. No matter how many times he dug through the fridge, no matter how many half-frozen pizzas and leftover spaghetti containers he pulled out, it simply wasn’t there.

“Hey, where’s the milk?” Doflamingo asked.

“It’s in the fridge,” Vergo replied, eating his usual cheeseburger for breakfast.

“No, the _real_ milk,” Doflamingo insisted, digging through the fridge for any sign of his precious whole milk. “My cornflakes crave real milk. Not that...that....whatever the hell that stuff is you buy.”

“Almond milk,” Vergo corrected, earning him a small frown from Doflamingo. “I buy it because you’re lactose intolerant, Doffy.”

“Where’d the milk I had yesterday go?”

“The recycling bin,” Vergo said, pointing toward the garage. “You drank the last of it.” He paused to take another bite of his burger. “Maybe you should eat something else this morning, if you’re that adamant about having whole milk in your cereal.”

“Fuck off, Vergo,” Doflamingo said. “I love cornflakes.”

Doflamingo looked longingly at his plastic bowl of cornflakes. They seemed so sad, those dry cornflakes, never to be soaked with fresh, _real_ milk…

With a loud sigh, he went over to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of wine. It was half finished from yesterday--which was surprising, usually Doflamingo finished them off in one day. He opened it and poured some of the contents into the plastic cereal bowl. Vergo stared at the bowl uncomfortably before finishing off his burger.

“It’s not the same,” Doflamingo said as he ate his cereal. “I mean, it’s pretty damn good but it’s just….not the same as milk.”

He ate spoonful after spoonful of wine-soaked cornflakes with a sigh, shoulders sagging and arms heavy in his best attempt to look like he was visibly suffering from this. But Vergo ignored him. He sipped on his strawberry shake and looked out the window away from Doflamingo.

Doflamingo frowned and moved to the table, easily climbing on top of it to sit directly in the middle. The salt and pepper shakers tipped over and the napkins spilled out of their holder. Oh, that got Vergo’s attention immediately.

“ _Doffy_ ,” Vergo said in a warning tone.

“I’m sad, Vergo.”

“I’m not buying you dairy milk.”

That was it. Doflamingo sipped the wine from the soggy cereal and then tossed the plastic bowl down for emphasis. The bowl struck the table, sending wet pieces of cereal all around the room and on Vergo’s clothes. Without a word, he stepped off the table and walked away.

“Well, _fine!_ ” Doflamingo snapped. “Who needs you anyway! I’m a grown man who can go out and get his own dairy milk whenever he likes!” He paused with his hand on the doorknob, glanced back to see a very annoyed Vergo covered in mushy cereal, and then pointed at him with a smirk. “Fufufufu! You’ll see, Vergo! I’ll have my cornflakes yet!”

One proud march to the grocery store later and he realized he didn’t have his wallet on him.

He dug through his pockets for any change, or bills, or even one of Vergo’s credit cards...only to find some lint and a couple haircut coupons. Even three dollars off a haircut wouldn’t be enough to get him a gallon of milk. With a huff, he went and settled on a bench to think. Well, after that show of confidence, he couldn’t just go back and ask for money from Vergo…not that Vergo seemed too keen on the idea of him buying milk. Maybe...he could take a gallon of milk and pay them back later? No, no, too risky...

Then he remembered that there was someone else who was guaranteed to have milk. And he wouldn’t have to pay a cent!

Quickly, he hurried off to his brother’s house, which wasn’t too far away from the apartment where he and Vergo lived. He knew his brother was a bit careless in that he left the back door open at all times. Once he navigated through the plants on the back porch--tomato plants? Seriously?--he let himself right in. It was quiet, the house’s inhabitants probably out at work or school. He strolled through the living room and into the kitchen. Man, his brother kept this place so clean!

He jerked open the door to the fridge and looked through the contents. Past the nasty gluten free shit his brother insisted on buying, he saw it: a fresh, unopened gallon of whole milk waiting just for him. He yanked it out of the fridge, easily twisted the seal off, and drank some straight from the jug. Milk ran down his neck but he didn’t even care. That rich, sweet taste of real milk...it was all too satisfying. A quick browse through his brother’s pantry made him realize that there weren’t any cereals--or at least not any that were worth his time. He scratched his chin. The milk alone was great, but he needed something to go with it to get the full enjoyment from it. He checked the other cabinets. No bread, no cookies, nothing of any value! What kind of shitty life was his brother living?!

Well, desperate times called for desperate measures. There was plenty of food back at his apartment, why not just bring it here? Then Vergo wouldn’t catch him with the milk.

So that was that. After a trip there and back, he settled down on Rocinante’s kitchen table surrounded by hastily made peanut butter sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies, cornflakes, marshmallows, and some other odds and ends he pulled from their pantry at home. He dipped the cookies in his bowl of cornflakes and happily munched on them. Vergo was gonna be so jealous of how much fun he was having.

Some time later, the front door clicked. Doflamingo paused in the middle of eating one of his peanut butter sandwiches to listen. The door creaked open, shut again, and then he distinctly heard one set of footsteps head from the front door to the kitchen. Rocinante entered through the hallway, a small bag of groceries in his hand. He looked at Doflamingo absentmindedly before walking into the kitchen. Then he did a doubletake.

“Doffy, what the hell are you doing here?” Rocinante said sternly. He looked at all the food on the table and groaned. “What have I told you, time and time again, about surprise visits?”

Doflamingo paused in eating to think. “....Uhhh…”

“If you _have_ to visit, then don’t bring peanut products or gluten into the house,” Rocinante said slowly, looking rather irritated. “This is a gluten-free, peanut-free zone.”

Doflamingo blinked at his brother before taking another bite out of his peanut butter sandwich. “Those rules are stupid, Roci,” he said. “What do you have against gluten and peanut butter anyway?”

“Law and I are allergic to gluten and Crocodile is allergic to peanut butter,” Rocinante said. “ _Highly_ allergic to peanut butter.”

“Oh yeah, good ol’ Croco lives here now, doesn’t he?” Doflamingo said with his mouth full. Rocinante ignored him as he went to open the three windows in the kitchen area. “What’s he up to today? Is he free? I’ve got plenty of food for both of us.”

“Please get off of my table,” Rocinante said, gesturing for his brother to get down. Doflamingo paid him no mind. He scowled and said more intensely, “ _Off_ , Doflamingo.”

“Okay, okay, sheesh!” Doflamingo climbed down and took his bag of marshmallows with him. “No need to get snappy with me.”

“Did you get peanut butter on the table?” Rocinante swept the crumbs off into a trash can. When he spotted the small globs of peanut butter and the knife he’d used to make his sandwiches, he let out a loud sigh. “I’ll warn Crocodile not to come home this afternoon.”

“What? Cause I’m here?”

“ _No_ ,” Rocinante began, “it’s because there’s a chance that this peanut butter you got _all over the table_ will send him into anaphylactic shock.”

“Fufufu! I feel the same way when I eat a good jar of peanut butter.”

As Rocinante set to work washing the table off, Doflamingo took a seat in one of the chairs to watch him. Rocinante occasionally sent him a nasty look and Doflamingo just crossed his legs, shook his head, and ate another bite of his sandwich. His brother was such a buzzkill! What did he have against having fun?

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Doflamingo was laying on the floor of his apartment all curled up, writhing in pain, stomach trying to eat itself. This was it. The end was coming, and it was coming here and now. He looked pitifully up at Vergo, who was standing in the doorway.

“Vergo…” he moaned. “Vergo, I’m dying.”

“Oh, again?” Vergo asked.

“No...I’m dying _for real_ , Vergo, you insensitive fuck,” Doflamingo snapped. “Can’t you be a little more considerate? Your best friend is gonna die and you can’t even care…”

With a huff, Vergo walked into the room and sat down beside him. Doflamingo glared at him. “I told you not to have dairy milk,” Vergo said. “I thought you’d have learned your lesson from the last time this happened.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Doflamingo muttered as Vergo rubbed his back. “You never want me to have any fun...”


	6. Local Asshole Sticks Pants On Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually something I wrote for [Vergo Week](http://georginoschkavincen.tumblr.com/post/145351844610/okay-i-saw-a-lot-of-insert-fav-character-weeks) on Tumblr, but it suits this collection way too well to get tossed in with Loose Feathers soooo. Have a bonus chapter.

Sundays were generally boring, laze-around-the-house days and unfortunately Doflamingo was out of things to do. The television was so full of nothing to watch, he’d already seen all the good movies, and of course Vergo wouldn’t approve of him searching for more cats to adopt. He was going to have to think outside of the box to entertain himself. **  
**

“Morning Vergo,” Doflamingo greeted as he opened the cupboard. He reached his hand in and frowned when it didn’t find the box of cereal he was looking for. “…Vergo?”

“Hm?” Vergo responded.

“We’re not out of cereal, are we?” Doflamingo asked, squinting into the empty cabinet. “Cause I thought there was at least one box of cornflakes left–”

When he poked his head back out of the cabinet, he immediately caught the sight of the missing cereal box…plastered to Vergo’s cheek. Vergo seemed completely oblivious to it. Doflamingo scratched his chin as he watched Vergo calmly eat his breakfast. How did he not notice the large, obtrusive box stuck to his face? 

Without a word, he walked over and tugged the box off of his face. Vergo paused and looked up at him.

“Oh,” Vergo said, staring at the box with genuine surprise. “I guess I had it.”

Doflamingo had never really given Vergo’s apparently very sticky face any mind; it wasn’t exactly unusual for there to be bits of food stuck to him. But this was the first time, to his knowledge, that something other than food was stuck there. As he ate his breakfast, he kept an eye on Vergo and processed this new information. If cardboard stuck to him, then what else would stick?

Suddenly, he grinned widely. He had the perfect cure for his boring Sunday.

After breakfast, Vergo busied himself with something or other on his computer in the office and politely asked Doflamingo not to bother him. He made no promises.

Doflamingo carefully approached him from behind with a small plastic container of office supplies. Quietly, he tiptoed over to Vergo and pressed several paper clips to his cheek. They stuck. Rubber bands and eraser tops also stuck. Vergo didn’t react. He took a few pens and pencils out of the burger shaped cup on the desk and gently prodded Vergo. They, too, stuck tight.

“Can I help you, Doffy?” Vergo asked, turning to look at him.

“Fufufu, nope,” Doflamingo said, holding his pencil-filled hands up. “Just needed to borrow a few pencils. I’ll bring them back once I’ve finished.”

Vergo gave him a look like he didn’t quite believe him, but nevertheless he returned to his computer work. Doflamingo had to stop himself from laughing at the countless items sticking out at weird angles. Vergo didn’t even notice them. Doflamingo took several steps back, grabbed an eraser, and flicked it at Vergo’s face. It landed between a couple paper clips and stuck fast. Vergo didn’t react.

Doflamingo snuck away to find some other interesting things he could stick to Vergo; a hairbrush, a tissue box, his flamingo socks, books, and other assorted things he found lying around. He cycled through his collection of things as Vergo went about his daily chores. Doflamingo wasn’t sure what was funnier, that items stuck to Vergo, or the fact that Vergo didn’t even notice when he gently placed a shoe on his cheek.

Once he got bored of common household things, Doflamingo had to think outside of the box. While Vergo was doing laundry with one of Doflamingo’s pictures of Crocodile stuck to his face, he thought up another idea. He waited for Vergo to leave, quietly snatched up one of his pairs of pants, and followed after him. Vergo was busying himself with the rugs, picking them up one by one and taking them outside.

He waited for the perfect moment–when Vergo’s back was to him–and then he wadded up the capris and tossed them at Vergo. One of the pant legs held fast to his cheek. Just as before, Vergo didn’t even notice.

“Vergo!” Doflamingo called. “Vergo, have you seen my pants?”

Vergo leaned into the room. The striped pink capris fell forward and swayed in the light breeze coming from the door.

“Did you check the laundry room?” Vergo asked, seeming completely unaware of the situation. “I just did a load of laundry. I thought I saw them in the basket.”

“Well…I can’t seem to find them anywhere!” Doflamingo said with a smile. He tapped his chin with his finger. “It’s almost as if they’d….disappeared! Fufufu.”

Vergo wasn’t as amused. “Doffy, what’s this about?” he said as he crossed his arms. “It feels like you’ve been messing with me all day.”

“Who, me?” Doflamingo put a hand to his chest. “Vergo, I’m offended that you’d think that! I’ve been on my best behavior today…” He shook his head. “I guess I’ll just have to look somewhere else for my pants…I can’t go out and get the mail pantsless!”

Well, actually that had never stopped him before. But he knew that Vergo definitely wouldn’t want him to surprise the neighbors in his underwear. He took the hint, and left the room with the pants fluttering alongside him. Doflamingo followed after, watching him approach the front door with a grin on his face. This was going to be good.

As Vergo walked out, the pants fluttered in the wind like a flag. He wordlessly opened the mailbox and took out a box–probably another one of Doflamingo’s mail orders–and a pile of mail. One of the neighbors passed by, stopped to stare at him, and then awkwardly continued jogging after Vergo nodded in acknowledgement. The pants fluttered around and draped gracefully over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until an hour later that Doflamingo finally got bored and retreated to the couch, where he kicked up his feet and sent out a fleet of pictures of Vergo’s face to his brother. Rocinante probably wouldn’t appreciate the joke in the same way, but he needed to tell somebody.

“Doffy?” Came Vergo’s voice from down the hall.

“Mm?”

“Have you seen my sunglasses?”

“Did you check the bathroom?” Doflamingo suggested. “I thought I saw them in there a while ago.”

Vergo then shuffled away into the bathroom. There was a long moment of silence before he he heard Vergo loudly say, “Doffy, what the hell _is_ all this?”

The sound of cackling from the living room was the only answer Vergo got.


	7. Local Asshole’s Nephew Pulls Pranks With Cutlery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now's a good time to mention that this little AU collection is just that: a collection of various things happening in the AU. They can be read in whatever order you like!
> 
> This particular one takes place in the past of this AU, just so you know.

It was late in the evening and Rocinante had set the table with some freshly made food. Law was hiding away in his room, insisting that he wasn’t hungry, leaving Rocinante to awkwardly tug on his collar while he waited for their other guest to arrive. So far the special night he had set up wasn’t going as planned.

Though he and Crocodile had been dating for some time, Rocinante had put off introducing his boyfriend to his thirteen year old son. It wasn’t that he was worried they’d hate each other…or no, no that was exactly it. Crocodile didn't get along with the best of people but even in an awkward situation he could act a good game. He knew all too well that Crocodile was going to say something to bother Law, or try to be a pain in the most irritatingly harmless ways possible.

But what Rocinante was considerably more worried about was Law; the last time Rocinante brought someone home for an introductory dinner, Law insisted on removing the third and fourth chairs from the dining room. Then there had been the incident with the potato salad, an argument, and somewhere in the fray Law had let their dog, Bepo, out of his kennel to knock their guest over...the entire night had been a disaster and Law _enjoyed_ it.

And it wasn’t a singular event. It happened again, and again. He didn’t even want to think about what Law would be plotting this time. Rocinante continually glanced at the stairwell. It was quiet. _Too_ quiet.

Someone knocked three times at the door. It seemed as though like Crocodile was here already. Rocinante straightened his back and with a deep inhale, he marched over to the door and unlocked it. Tonight was going to be fine.

“Ah, hi!” Rocinante said with a small wave. “Come on in, dinner’s ready.” His eyes glanced over Crocodile’s...over the top fancy attire, and he snorted. “It’s just dinner, Crocodile, you didn’t have to get so dressed up.”

Crocodile looked at him with a knowing smirk on his face. “You love it,” he said.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,” Rocinante replied, pecking Crocodile on the cheek.

“ _Disgusting_.” Both adults turned around to see Law standing behind them, watching with a judgmental gaze. Law stuck his tongue out for emphasis before he passed by them to get to the kitchen. “I hope you’re not planning to do that during dinner, otherwise I’m going to leave.”

“...Er,” Rocinante said with an awkward laugh. “That’s my son, Law. He’s...a little moody tonight, but I can assure you that he’s a very sweet kid when he wants to be.”

“How charming,” Crocodile said, deadpan.

They followed after Law and took their seats at the table. Rocinante had put out a lovingly made yet simple dinner; gluten free ravioli with several vegetable choices. He’d checked several times to make sure none of the food items were rigged with pranks. Law had, on one occasion, placed a dead frog in the mashed potatoes to scare someone. The last thing he wanted was for Crocodile’s first impression of his cooking to be _that_.

But things went smoothly. Everyone took their fair share--with Law hogging a little more for himself--and the kitchen maintained a comfortable silence.

“How are things at work?” Rocinante asked Crocodile.

“The same, more or less,” he replied. “Your brother tried to sneak another pair of pearl earrings past security.”

Rocinante sighed and shook his head. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“He’s not gonna stop, you know. He’s just stupid, Dad,” Law said as he pushed the ravioli around on his plate with a….a plastic spork? Where had Law gotten _that_ from?

“Law, be nice,” Rocinante said. “He might be…” He made a gesture as he scrambled for the right word. “... _Doffy,_ but he’s still family. We shouldn’t go around insulting him all the time.”

Law rolled his eyes and dropped his spork onto the plate, trying to show his annoyance. Rocinante chatted with Crocodile for a bit longer, talking about everyday things, how the ride over was, and some plans they had next week. Law felt unusually quiet which Rocinante took to be a good sign. Maybe, just maybe, Law was giving up.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Rocinante caught Law moving. But he caught it a moment too late.

It felt like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Law bent back the plastic spork, flung the ravioli straight across the table, and managed to pelt Crocodile square in the eye. Crocodile flinched at the impact, but made no other reaction. Rocinante, however, was staring at the saucy ravioli in horror.

“ _Law_!” Rocinante gasped. Law looked at him with a smug smile. “Apologize right now!”

“Why?” Law asked, pretending to be innocent. Rocinante gave him a stern look, but Law simply went back to eating with a new cheerfulness. “His face was in the way of my ravioli.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rocinante said, reaching over to touch Crocodile’s arm. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, he’s usually not like this--”

The ravioli slid down Crocodile’s cheek and landed against the tablecloth with a wet splat, leaving a red saucy trail in its wake. Then, without a word, he grabbed the napkin beside the plate, roughly wiped off his face, and stared at Law with a ferocious smile. Whether or not that was worse than shouting Rocinante wasn’t quite sure.

“So _that’s_ how it’s going to be, you shitty little brat,” Crocodile said, catching Law’s eye again. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Suddenly Law’s cheerful expression faded. He swallowed the last bite of food and frowned thoughtfully at his plate of ravioli. The sneaky grin returned.

“I still have seven more raviolis,” Law said.

“Kuhahaha! Pitiful,” Crocodile replied, resting his head in his hand. “Do you really think that’s going to make me leave?”

“Maybe,” Law continued. “Especially if you consider the other things I have planned for tonight after dinner.”

After a long sigh, Rocinante rubbed his forehead. Just as he’d thought, Law had been upstairs hatching another scheme. What kinds of pranks had he hidden in the house while Rocinante was busy in the kitchen?

“Law, _please_ don’t do this again,” he began, only to be ignored.

“Other things?” Crocodile repeated. “I hope you understand exactly who you’re dealing with, boy.”

“Oh, I know,” Law said, scooping up another wet ravioli with his bent spork. “You’re the ugly-ass guy my dad dates.”

Which made Rocinante’s face flush and he quietly hissed, “ _Language_!” But Law either didn’t hear or didn’t care as he effortlessly flicked another ravioli across the table. Crocodile saw it coming a mile away, as he blocked it with the small, crumb-filled plate beside him. It stuck fast.

“Juvenile,” Crocodile said. Law flicked three more raviolis in quick succession. Crocodile effortlessly blocked them all with the plate. “All you’re doing now is wasting your meal. And without it, you’ll grow hungry--is that what you want? For me to take advantage of your weakness?” Crocodile leaned over the table, seeming pleased with himself. “I’ll tell you right now, brat, you--”

A fourth and final ravioli landed square on Crocodile’s nose, just below the jagged scar. The smile faded into a frown and he wrinkled his nose. Law stuffed the remaining ravioli in his mouth, picked up his dish, and stood up.

“Thanks for dinner, dad!” he said as he disappeared into the kitchen.

But Rocinante was distracted by gently wiping the pasta sauce off Crocodile’s nose. He apologized profusely as he gathered the fallen raviolis off of the tablecloth, where there were now little red splotches stained into the green plaid. Crocodile, however, was still glaring at the chair where Law had been sitting.

“Sorry about him. I was really hoping that he’d behave,” Rocinante said.

“That little runt thinks he can get the better of me.” He turned to see Crocodile glaring down at what was left of his own ravioli. “What’s his game?”

“Uh, well,” Rocinante began, shrugging, “maybe he’s jealous?” Crocodile glanced up. “Usually he has all my attention to himself. The last few times I dated he reacted the same way...”

“Hmph,” Crocodile grunted, stabbing several pieces of ravioli with his fork. “That child will have to learn to respect the fact that, regardless of what he thinks he can do to drive me off, I have no plans to cease fucking his father.”

The comment earned him a slight kick from under the table.

 


	8. Local Asshole Plays Pranks With Piranhas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [SimplyScarlet](http://simplyscarlet.tumblr.com/), who loves Dellinger!

It was a little after nine o’clock in the morning when the doorbell rang. Doflamingo, who preferred not to even move until after ten, had barely registered it in his half awake mind. But the person was persistent. The noise came again and again until Doflamingo couldn’t stand it anymore. He pulled the blankets over his face.

“Vergo…” he moaned. “Vergo, the door’s ringing…”

He got no reply. He turned to his right. Vergo had gone off to work, leaving a big cold space in the bed. In other words, he’d have to do it himself. Typical. He closed his eyes and laid back down. Fuck the doorbell.

When the doorbell rang again--Again! Who the hell was at the door? Doflamingo finally flung his covers off with a loud, annoyed yell.

“Alright, alright!” He exclaimed.

He stood up and grabbed a pair of sweatpants from off of a chair. Assuming it was someone more important than Law or Rocinante, some clothes were better than no clothes. He stormed out of the room and went down the hallway to the door, fully prepared to give whoever was on the other side an earful for daring to wake him up this early. He undid the bolt locks and opened his mouth wide to yell.

The woman on the other side let out a quiet gasp. Doflamingo’s rage subsided. It was Jora. He closed his mouth and leaned a bit on the doorway. It wasn’t often that Jora came around to see him, what with her being so busy with her own life. And she looked worried. What was up?

“Uh,” he began. “Morning. Can I help you with something, Jora?”

“I’m so sorry to drop in on you like this, Doffy,” Jora said. “But I need your help.”

Doflamingo grinned a little. “Fufu, of course. Anything for you, my dear.”

“Who are you calling the most beautiful?” Jora replied, batting her hand at him. “Ah--But see…I need someone to keep an eye on Dellinger for the day. His usual sitter isn’t available and everyone else I’ve called was busy this week...”

Upon being mentioned by his mother, said person appeared out from behind her legs. Doflamingo eyed Dellinger, who was clenching the straps of his tiny fish backpack and glaring up at him. Ah yes, another cute kid. Just like Law. He shrugged and looked back at Jora.

“Fufufu, it’s no trouble,” he replied. “Why don’t you come in?”

He opened the door wide and Jora hurried in, her heels clacking against the wood flooring. Dellinger seemed reluctant to come in, but as he realized he’d be left alone outside, he caught up quickly with his mother. Doflamingo shut the door behind them.

“You taking a vacation day from the kid?” He asked.

“I’ll be away for the night at an art exhibition,” Jora said. “A few of my pieces were selected for the show. It’s a wonderful opportunity for me and I absolutely cannot miss it. I need someone to watch Dell for me in the meantime.”

“Can’t I just go with you?” Dellinger spoke up, eyeing Jora hopefully. “I’ll be _extra_ good!”

“Oh, I’d love for you to come, Dellybean! But I know you won’t have very much fun just sitting and listening to a bunch of adults talk all day,” Jora said.

“Well, if he just needs a place to crash for the night, that’s fine,” Doflamingo said. “Vergo doesn’t give a--” He glanced down at Dellinger and bit back what he was about to say. “--Vergo doesn’t care who’s here.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” Jora said, looking relieved. She hurried into the kitchen and set her very large, very colorful bag on the table. “Here--I’ve gone and made you a list of numbers you can call in case of emergency,” Jora said, handing him a small booklet. “And there’s also a couple numbers you can reach me by, if needed.”

Doflamingo paged through the little booklet, noting the dozens of numbers. Among some hospital names and numbers there was also the fire station, emergency contacts, doctors, family friends, and--was that the number for the police station? He rolled his eyes. Dellinger was just one kid, how much trouble could he get into?

“Alright, I’ll uh...I’ll put this on the counter.”

“Dell can be a little picky when it comes to food sometimes so I made you a list of everything he likes to eat,” Jora said as she continued to pull things from her gargantuan purse. “Some of his favorite places to go in case he gets bored, his favorite shows--don’t let him watch any scary movies after dark, he gets terrible nightmares, um, oh--and make sure he gets to bed on time! He’ll be up all night if you let him. And then there’s--”

“Jora, Jora,” Doffy said, patting her on the shoulder. “Relax. Dellinger will be just fine.”

She looked at him and sighed. “I can’t help worrying about my little Dellybean,” she said. “I don’t like leaving him behind like this, he might think I’m abandoning him...If I could bring him with me, I would.”

Doflamingo pat her shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll have fun with us,” he said. “We’ll have a great time!”

 

* * *

 

Dellinger complained much less than Doflamingo thought he would when Jora left. And after that, he just took to flat out ignoring Doflamingo while he drew at the kitchen table using what was possibly the largest box of crayons that Doflamingo had ever seen. Of course Jora would spare no expense on her son’s art supplies. Doflamingo slowly walked over and sat down.

“Right. Uh,” Doflamingo looked across the table at Dellinger. Dellinger glared at him. “So. Ground rules: don’t touch anything. Don’t go in the bedrooms. Stay out of the cabinets and away from my cornflakes. Also, I like to have a lot of me time. Disturbing me time has consequences. Otherwise, I think we’ll get along great, kid.”

Dellinger didn’t reply, as he was too absorbed in his art. He reached over with the full intent of rustling Dellinger’s hair. But, upon spotting Doflamingo’s hand, Dellinger lashed out, biting at his fingertips just as Doflamingo jerked his hand away.

“Don’t put your fingers where piranhas can get them,” Dellinger warned in a sing-song voice.

“And that makes you a piranha then?”

“Yup,” Dellinger replied as he continued coloring. “And if I bite you, it’s your fault for being dumb.”

They sat in silence for a while. Dellinger drew picture after picture of him destroying fish tanks and eating the fish, sharks, and other sea creatures. But there were multiple images of large, ferocious looking fish with horns that Doflamingo assumed he’d made up himself. He wasn’t a bad artist for a...a….how old was Dellinger again? He rested his head in his hands.

“Hey, Dell,” he said, catching Dellinger’s attention. “You wanna do something fun?”

“Like what?”

Doflamingo thought for a moment. Jora had listed dozens of things that Dellinger liked to do, and most of them cost money. He didn’t have much of that. What could they do that was fun, exciting, and free that would also be quality bonding time?

“Like....go for a walk,” he suggested. “There’s a park not too far from here.”

Dellinger narrowed his eyes. “Sounds boring,” he said. “Jora said you were _supposed_ to be fun. You’re just really old and boooooring. I’ll bet we’ll go and you’ll just fall asleep like a dumb old person.”

Doflamingo stared at him. Old? Boring? He wasn’t boring, not by any stretch of the imagination! In fact, he was so fun-- _so_ fun--No, no. No need to lose his temper in front of some precocious little brat. He inhaled and then exhaled.

“It’ll be loads of fun!” He promised. “You’ll see.”

Dellinger stopped scribbling and gave him another look.

“If you make piranhas angry, they’ll bite you,” he said. “And piranhas have super sharp teeth.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Go grab your shoes.”

Roughly five minutes later, after convincing Dellinger to put on his velcro shoes, they shoved off for the park. It was only a short five minute walk, Doflamingo knew this from countless visits he’d made in the middle of the night. It had a jungle gym and a little pond and was overall a great place to set loose a child for a couple hours. He could harass some ducks or something.

Dellinger walked ahead of him, pausing occasionally to climb into a tree and blend in with the branches. He would have been better at hiding if all the leaves hadn’t been falling off.

Near the end of the road where Doflamingo lived, there were a few fraternity homes from the local university. Doflamingo stopped as he caught sight of an all-too familiar yellow one that’d been spray painted with graffiti. Someone who looked an awful lot like Bellamy was on the lawn raking the leaves into a large pile. It occurred to him that Bellamy owed him a sizable chunk of money from his last sale.

He smirked as a diabolical plot hatched in his mind.

“Hey, Dell,” he called out. Said boy looked out of the tree branches where he had hid himself. “Do you want to play a game?”

“I like games,” Dellinger replied. He jumped out of the tree.

“I’ve got a good one for you: why don’t we play the Piranha Game?”

Dellinger’s eyes lit up and he grinned a very sinister little kid grin.

“Okay,” he said. “How do you play?”

“It’s easy!” Doflamingo said. “You go and hide for a bit in the water--which is those bushes right over there.” He pointed to the bushes lining the right side of Bellamy’s frat house as a makeshift fence. “And when I give you the signal--” he put his hands together like they were a large set of jaws, “--the piranha--that’s you--jumps out and attacks someone.”

Dellinger looked at the area around them, studying it, before he spotted Bellamy. He giggled to himself and then nodded.

“Okay! I’ll go and hide.”

Doflamingo watched as Dellinger quietly, carefully sneaked across the street, over the little white fence, and into the yard. Bellamy didn’t notice him as he dove straight into the bushes and ducked down. Doflamingo waited two minutes before hs strolled over casually, as if he’d just so happened to be walking nearby, and stopped at the front gate.

“Hey! Bellamy!” Doflamingo called out.

Bellamy stopped raking and turned around. He jumped when he saw it was Doflamingo and tightened his grip on the rake.

“H...Hey! Doffy!” He said nervously. “It’s great to see you again. How’re you? How’s Vergo?”

“Oh, Vergo’s good! I’m good,” Doflamingo said in a friendly tone. Then, he put his hands on the fence and leaned forward. “But you know what would make me feel _great_?” He forced out a wide grin. “ _You_ paying me back that _money_.”

“Ah, gee, uh,” Bellamy stammered. He looked around for help. There was no one else around. “Look, I’m sorry, I’m behind on rent and stuff--can’t I give it to you next month? Please?”

“It’s been three months, Bellamy, and you and I _both_ know that bag is empty by now,” he hissed. Then, he composed himself, let go of the fence, and crossed his arms. “So if you don’t fork over that cash right now, I’ll have to take drastic measures.”

“D...Drastic….” Bellamy muttered. “C’mon, Doffy, it wasn’t even that much money!”

“Well, Bellamy, you’re gonna have to tell that,” Doflamingo said, as he gave Dellinger the signal, “to the piranhas.”

Before Bellamy could even ask what the hell he even meant by that, Dellinger burst from the bushes, snarling and growling and gnashing his teeth. Bellamy turned to look at him a moment too late. Dellinger leapt at his leg, mouth wide open, and bit down on it. Bellamy let out a horrified scream of pain and terror. He shook his leg around in an attempt to get Dellinger off. It was all in vain.

As Bellamy thrashed around, he stumbled back over the steps leading into the house, fell over, and landed in the leaf pile which scattered the brightly colored foliage everywhere. Doflamingo cackled from behind the fence as Dellinger released his leg and then chased Bellamy around the yard mercilessly.

Ah yes. Good, quality fun.

 

* * *

 

When Vergo came home later that evening, he found Doflamingo and Dellinger watching some documentary about sharks in the living room. Dellinger was drinking something dark colored from a plastic cup. A bottle of red wine was sitting out on the coffee table. Vergo looked at Doflamingo, alarmed.

“ _Doffy_ \--” Vergo began.

“Relax, Vergo,” Doflamingo said, not looking away from the TV. “I bought the kid some grape juice.”

Vergo stared down at Dellinger, who didn’t seem to care much about anything that didn’t directly relate to the great white sharks swimming around on the television. He stepped around him and went over to the couch, blocking Doflamingo’s view. Said person scowled and tried his best to look around him.

“Is Jora here, too?” Vergo asked.

“Jora had something to do, and I said he could stay for the night,” Doflamingo explained. “He’s small enough to fit on the couch.”

Vergo frowned but said nothing. It wasn’t like he could protest too much at this point. With a sigh, he sat down on the couch beside Doflamingo and started to watch TV along with them. Dellinger made some hissing sounds as a diver appeared on the screen, as if he was planning to attack.

“Is this what you did all day? Watch television?”

“Something like that,” Doflamingo replied vaguely, much to Vergo’s annoyance.

“Hey, Doffy?” Dellinger said, looking back at them. “Can we play the Piranha Game tomorrow before Mom gets here?”

“Sure thing, kid,” he said. “I’m sure Bellamy would love to join in again, too.”


End file.
